


Wait... You aren't?

by C_AND_B



Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: F/F, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-24
Updated: 2016-09-24
Packaged: 2018-08-17 01:37:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8125474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/C_AND_B/pseuds/C_AND_B
Summary: Everyone thinks Erin and Holtzmann are dating. Everyone can see that they like each other. Even them. It just takes them a little time to do something about it.





	

You’re a good liar. No. You are a great liar – a world class champion of little white lies, a true connoisseur of weaving webs that even spiders would be jealous of. Or, at least, you usually were. Normally they slipped from your lips so easily that even you began to question the truth.

The skill was cultivated through years and years of intense therapy, and even more intense bullying. You became good at lying somewhere between convincing your therapist that you weren’t a crazy lunatic (that ghost gate was just for attention) and your parents that what they saw on Thanksgiving was not, in fact, you kissing the girl who lived down the street (it most definitely was).

You became great at lying the moment you strived for tenure and found yourself creating an entirely new persona. The only things you were truly honest about for a long time in your life were your inability to feel comfortable during human interaction, your distaste for how uncomfortable heels are and your love for physics. Sometimes when you were drunk enough, and far enough away from New York, you would be honest about your bisexuality too but you generally kept that to yourself.

So you’re good at lying, correction, _great_ at lying.

Usually.

Generally.

That is to say that you _were_ good at lying until the thing happened - that thing being Jillian Holtzmann in all her mad scientist, pretty girl, dimple deity glory. Truthfully, it was all quite unfair. Lying was the one thing you had going for you. Lying was how you made your way through life. Lying was how you avoided getting hurt because it was how you avoided your feelings in the first place.

Except now you couldn’t lie, and thus you subsequently couldn’t avoid your feelings, and you were becoming a ridiculous ball of nerves and awkwardness and everyone was noticing. Everyone was noticing because you couldn’t keep it together.

It’s Kevin that notices first. _Kevin_. Kevin who can’t answer phones or remember basic coffee orders or understand that you hear with your ears and not your eyes. Cute, but ineffably idiotic, Kevin notices first and all you can think is how obvious that must mean it is.

She’s dancing and tinkering and being Holtzmann and you lo- _like_ it. You’re a big fan of it. Such a fan. The biggest. But really anyone would stare because, even if they didn’t find her smirks alluring or her twirls oddly endearing, they would still have to find some hilarity or fear in a random women happily dancing around with blowtorches.

So you stare. You stare and you stare and offer healthy snacks when Holtzmann seems to be concentrating too hard to question eating carrot sticks instead of Pringles. You’re not entirely sure the ins and outs of how the inability to lie begins. You’re not entirely sure the process that leads to the act that kicks it all off. Primarily because you’re too busy having an internal freak out as soon as it occurs. An internal freak out about how you snuck a carrot into her mouth and then she snuck a kiss onto your cheek in response.

It’s an offhanded action. Holtz kisses you and turns another screw. You get kissed by Holtz and freeze up, revelling in the heated blush that crawls its way up your neck with abandon. Kevin watches on with a smile and neither of you pay it any mind until he adds speaking to the equation.

“You two make a cute couple.” It’s a statement. A simple statement that truthfully leaves no room for questioning, but you are sure as hell going to do your best to question it, because people can’t notice. People can’t notice that you have a crush on Holtz. Kevin especially cannot notice because that means that everyone will notice and _people can’t notice._

“Couple of what?” Deflection. Confusion. Something else ending in _–ion_ that will mean Kevin forgets what he’s talking about and thus stop openly talking about you and Holtz being a couple in front of Holtz.

Not that she’s paying attention.

That’s something that you’ve noticed about Holtzmann the past few months of working with her – once she’s in the zone it’s particularly hard to break her out of it. It’s endearing. The way her brow furrows and how her tongue pokes out the corner of her mouth and her smirk when everything goes to plan.

It’s distracting.

It’s also incredibly dangerous because she always sets something alight accidentally and then is too busy being enamoured by her own engineering skills to even notice there’s a fire, let alone take the time to actually put it out. Honestly, the only thing she really takes the time to do is dance ridiculously and send perfectly timed pickup lines your way during intermissions.

That’s even more distracting.

“Girlfriends.”

“No, we’re not- we-“You splutter, searching and searching for some kind of respectable answer to explain. It shouldn’t be hard. The simple answer is _we’re not girlfriends_ because that’s the truth. That’s the truth and it should be easy to just say that to Kevin but suddenly your throat is tight, and you’re blushing, and all you can think is that you want Holtz to be your girlfriend.

“Oh, it’s a secret.” He mimes locking his lips before throwing the key away in a manner exaggerated enough that it draws the attention of Holtz from beside you.

“What’s a secret?” She asks, and you really hope that’s the only part of this that she decided to pay attention to because you can feel your tongue threatening to be truthful if you dare try to explain this away and you’re not ready for that humiliation.

Thankfully, Kevin decides that her words are merely a test of how seriously he’ll take his oath of secrecy and winks cheerily, before waltzing off to do whatever it is he does now that the phones are routed to your own mobile.

“That was weird,” she mumbles, eyeing you carefully as you purposefully avoid catching her gaze. She has an innate ability to know what you’re feeling just from looking in your eyes and you’re in no mood to explain this particular brand of dishevelment.

“Yeppers.” _Suave, Erin_. _Super casual and surreptitious._

“Are you alright?” Your answering nod is far too vigorous. Your palms are far too sweaty when she attempts a clumsy squeeze in reassurance that she’s there for whatever it is you’re freaking out about. Your supposedly assuring smile is definitely not assuring but Holtz accepts it anyway with a grin of her own as she returns to her work.

Neither of you mention that she doesn’t remove her hand from your own.

You merely pull the fire extinguisher closer and watch on.

* * *

 

Abby notices next.

You would hypothesise that Abby noticed far sooner than she verbalised her notice though, considering she’d been your best friend during the years of your most outrageous lying. She had watched you lie, time and time again, to your mother and to the kids at school and you know she was acutely aware of the lies told at therapy even if the two of you had an unspoken agreement to pretend that wasn’t going on.

So that, coupled with the fact that she sounds both amused and incredibly exasperated when she finally says something, tells you that maybe Abby has known too much for too long.

In your defence, you weren’t expecting it. Not that you honestly think you could have prepared yourself given appropriate time because, despite attempts not to, imagining about Holtz with her hair down is something you’ve spent an inappropriate amount of time doing.

When an equation wasn’t going your way, or you were waiting for the kettle to boil, or when you finally take a break from trying to work out how blind Kevin actually is with his purposely broken glasses, you find yourself wondering what Holtzmann looks like without hairspray and bobby pins (you also, maybe, dreamt about it a few times - both at night and in the day).

It wasn’t really a problem at first. You had gotten quite good at hiding your true feelings over the years and no one had commented on the dazed look that overtook your face sometimes when you were too busy watching Holtzmann dance around to censor yourself. Except then it became a problem. It became a problem because with distraction comes disaster, and with disaster comes a lot of unwanted attention.

It started last Tuesday when she reached towards her hair and you were sure it was time. It wasn’t. The only thing it was time for was for you to lean so far forward in your chair in excitement that you toppled off and onto the floor.

Patty and Abby had laughed at you for a solid minute when they discovered you sprawled on the floor, and you joined in self-deprecatingly, if only to deter the suspicious look in Abby’s eyes. In the end, it was Holtzmann who offered you a hand up. The laughter in her eyes had made you blush but not as much as her dutifully scanning your body for injuries a second later did (she was very thorough).

Two days later you tripped over nothing. Full on face plant. In front of everyone. The worst part wasn’t even the ache in your bones, or the definite bruise on your hip, but the fact that it _was_ happening. There was ectoplasm in her hair, and three pins were out, and she was talking about showering and _why did you decide that was the moment to zone out and start thinking about naked Holtzmann with her hair down?_

Today was worse.

You were entirely too preoccupied with your coffee to notice anything around you (yes, you were very into the pumpkin spiced lattes, and yes, you know the barista was silently judging you as you ordered it).

You hadn’t really taken the time to engage with anyone since you’d entered the fire station until you heard a satisfied groan from Holtzmann’s side of the second floor and made the mistake of searching for the source.

It was down.

Her hair was down.

Holtzmann’s hair was down and your coffee was on your shirt.

Your coffee was definitely burning your skin and yet you couldn’t stop staring. It was longer than you thought, dropping past her shoulders and skimming her chest. It was beautiful, not that it was anything less usually, but this was unexpectedly making your heart threaten to bust out of your chest, and you just want to touch it.

You want to feel it slip between your fingers. You want to feel your fingers catch against stray curls and hear Holtzmann’s responding purrs. You want to do a lot of things that you really shouldn’t be thinking about with your friend, especially not now when you’re almost sleep deprived enough to act upon the thoughts.

“Erin this isn’t what I meant when I called you hot stuff.” Holtzmann worriedly runs to you, her hair flying behind her in her haste. And, oh yeah, you spilt coffee. Hot coffee. It’s hot. And your chest is burning, and Holtzmann is pretty and she’s unbuttoning your shirt.

_Holtzmann is unbuttoning your shirt!_

“Holtz, what are you doing?” You screech, attempting to bat her hands away (it’s a half-hearted attempt and the shirt is pushed from your shoulders in less than a second).

“Making sure you haven’t hurt yourself since you decided to pick the worst time ever to zone out. What were you even doing?” Imagining her hair splayed across your pillows. Thinking about low moans coming from her throat as you tug sharply. Wondering if her hair feels as silky as it looks. Questioning why she doesn’t wear it down more often - fire safety be damned.

“Thinking about an equation.” It’s poor, but her hands are cool against your skin as she checks for damage and honestly you can’t think straight (pun not intended, but still incredibly relevant). All you can think about is how surprisingly smooth her hands are, despite the few obvious calluses from years of welding and tinkering. All you can think about is the steady pattern of her breathing that you find yourself matching, until her every exhale is your inhale, and you’re no longer sure whose breath is whose.

Holtzmann steps closer and you try not to look at her lips. You really try. You do. You fail. You fail spectacularly and you expect her to smirk, or joke, or say something inherently flirty to cut the tension but she doesn’t. When you finally break away long enough to catch her eye, you find her own gaze directed at your lips. You lick them subconsciously. Her breath catches. Yours follows suit.

“Maybe wait ‘til you’ve put your coffee down before you let your beautiful mind wander, Gilbert,” Holtz comments jokingly, but she’s still staring, and you’re still wondering what it would be like to just kiss her. You’re still wondering if this is actually happening and you’re not going to suddenly wake up and have to awkwardly avoid eye contact with her all day.

“Smart plan.” Her hand is still splayed against your ribs, and you think she must be able to feel your heart ramming against them in an attempt to break free and give itself to her wholly. You stop thinking for a second. You stop thinking and suddenly you’re running your fingers through her hair because you want to. You want to and you’re not thinking and she’s beautiful.

“I probably have a t-shirt you can borrow if you want,” she offers but she makes no move. You blink. She blinks. You keep staring. She leans ever so slightly into your hand as blunt nails graze scalp and you just keep staring.

“I’d appreciate that, thank you.” She makes no move to go get it. You make no attempt to move out of her space, if anything you find yourself drifting closer without conscious thought. You can smell Sour Patch Kids on her breath, you can feel the icy mint of her toothpaste dance across your lips, you can hear the beat of your heart mix with hers in a cacophony of sound. You don’t move. She doesn’t move.

“No problem.” Her lips are an inch away and you could kiss her. If you were a braver person you would push forward that final stretch and kiss her.

You want to kiss her.

You’ve wanted to kiss her for months. You’ve wanted to kiss her since she handed you a swiss army knife and Abby confirmed your suspicions that it was from Holtzmann’s personal collection of knick knacks. You’ve wanted to kiss her since she winked away your worries and slurped her drink in an obnoxious way that would’ve been annoying had it been anyone else.

You should just kiss her.

You don’t move. She doesn’t move. You’re not entirely sure that you’re breathing anymore, you’re not entirely sure that she is either but you’re going to kiss her. You’re going to-

“Hey, guys!” Abby appears abruptly, and the two of you bolt away from each other anxiously. Holtz’s confident smirk spreads easily across her lips, but the way she mumbles _shirt_ lowly under her breath as she rushes out of the room, is such a stark contrast from her usual demeanour that you know it’s obvious something is up. “I know you have a crush on Holtz but stripping in the middle of the lab doesn’t seem like the smartest plan.”

“Whaaa- I-I don’t... It’s not... we-“You blanch. Abby, on her part, just cocks her hip and brow in tandem and you know that she knows. You don’t, however, know how your ability to lie has been so royally screwed by Jillian Holtzmann (all you knew was that it was terribly annoying).

“You want me to give you a minute to think of something good?” She questions, and you rack your brain for something, _anything_ , that sounds vaguely like a good lie.

“I,” you begin, but Abby’s giving you the look. The look that says ‘ _I’ve known you for too long to believe the usual bullshit’_ , the look that says _‘I’ve watched you lie to people for years, so don’t even try lie to me’_. “I maybe have a small crush. Maybe.”

“Small crush, my ass!” She all but shouts and you blush harshly as you attempt to lessen her volume.

“Abby-”

“So, I don’t own anything with a miniscule bowtie, but this will fit at least. It also has no coffee on it - motor oil, however...” You take the top without question, attempting to smile casually as you catch Holtzmann’s eye. You must fail because she grins, wide and wild, and offers you a cheeky wink that you fail, even more spectacularly, to not blush at.

“It’s perfect.” You speak too soon. It doesn’t even occur to you to look at the shirt before you slip it on. It doesn’t occur to you that Holtz’s smile is far too mischievous, even by her standards, for her to have simply handed you a normal shirt.

You don’t notice anything is wrong at all until Abby is muffling a laugh with her hand and Holtzmann is joining in wholeheartedly. You look down at the shirt, finding the words _say hey if you’re gay_ staring back up at you, and you would blush if you weren’t already, but instead you simply roll your eyes at the both of them.

“Hey,” Holtzmann says, punctuating her words with a wink that makes your stomach flip. You should probably make a witty comment, or tell her that she’s an idiot, or just say anything at all in response.

You do not.

You stumble away sheepishly, cursing Holtz and her stupidly beautiful face, and her stupidly pretty hair, and her cute stupid wink, and the fact that it isn’t a small crush. It isn’t even a big crush. You are halfway in love with her and you almost kissed her. You think she almost kissed you too.

_You’re almost in love with Jillian Holtzmann and you almost kissed._

You don’t give the shirt back. It smells like smoke and vanilla and something so inherently Holtzmann that you can’t explain it.

You don’t say anything.

Neither does she.

* * *

Patty notices next because you seem to no longer have impulse control, and Holtzmann has always been beautiful, but now she looks hot, and you would once again like to reiterate that you no longer have impulse control (see: the time you genuinely punched a man in the face for calling you ghost girl).

So, you’re weak, and Holtzmann is sweaty and wearing a crop top and you’re sure that you’re not even being remotely conspicuous about your opinion on the matter - your opinion being that this whole situation is not fair.

You’ve snapped three whiteboard markers in two hours. You’re not sure where you pulled the strength from, probably from repressing all the things you’ve wanted to say since Holtz unbuttoned her overalls and decided to let them droop at her hips. It’s equally likely that it’s just from the sheer tension building in your muscles as you struggle to keep your body facing away from the whole scene.

You look again.

You look again because you can’t help it, and the temperature is too hot for you to think properly, let alone exert effort into using actual self control. You look again because there’s a bead of sweat dripping down Holtzmann’s back and that shouldn’t be an attractive thing.

It is.

It very much is.

You look again because she’s dancing to _Physical_ and you think she has to know what she’s doing, prancing around to a song that literally has the lyrics ‘ _there's nothing left to talk about, unless it's horizontally_ ’. Actually, you’re pretty sure you know she knows exactly what she’s doing because her playlist, whilst still mainly comprised of eighties classics, has become far more sexual than usual.

She’s stepped it up a notch. Holtzmann has kicked up the gears and you’re really not handling it well. Not that you ever really handle situations of flirting well (case and point - the Kevin fiasco).

At first you were thankful that the two of you were the only ones who usually spent time on the second floor because it meant that no one could question why you were all but drooling, or why you hadn’t actually added a single new number, let alone, an equation to your board.

Now you’re starting to wish that someone would come up just to stop you from doing something stupid, like hopping your desk and kissing Holtzmann, or running your tongue along her stomach to catch the droplets of sweat (honestly, you’re starting to scare yourself).

“You gon’ catch flies if you don’t shut ya jaw.” Patty’s voice startles you, causing your body to jolt and your chair to roll out from underneath you. You groan from your spot on the floor, your butt probably only slightly less bruised than your pride at the fact that that just happened. That being you falling off your chair because you were too busy admiring Holtzmann’s ass.

“You alright there, Gilbert?” Holtzmann calls out, the music shutting off abruptly, before her head pokes its way over your desk a second later. You blush up at the two women staring at you as they attempt to smother their grins.

“Fantastic. Great. Super great even. Probably the best I’ve ever been.” Patty’s hum is noncommittal and laced with a certain amount of quiet judgement that clearly translates as an exasperated _white people_.

“Holtzy, baby, I ain’t no health and safety dude but I know you shouldn’t be playin’ with fire without a top.” You’re thankful that the attention has been lifted off you. You’re less thankful that Patty is suggesting Holtzmann cover up - partially because you were usually the freak-out-friend who wanted everyone to be extra safe and follow the rules so this was suspicious, and partially because _she was suggesting Holtzmann cover up._

“I have a top,” Holtz smirks as Patty rolls her eyes good naturedly and gestures to the bare skin on display.

“Not enough of one. You could burn yourself.” She’s right. She’s very right. You don’t completely agree with the sentiment, for terrible reasons, but she is right. God, you really need to pull yourself together. You’re a respected scientist... you’re a _semi_ respected scientist, and a Ghostbuster, and an honest-to-god grown woman and you need to pull yourself together, not freak out about an unfairly charming engineer.

“Chicks dig scars, right Erin?” Holtz grins cheekily and you startle at being dragged back into the conversation.

“I-I wouldn’t know. I don’t really have any scars, except for the one on my... from the...” She’s watching you carefully. Her chin rests on her hand, her gaze intense and endeared as she watches you stumble through your words in a feeble attempt to collect your thoughts and create an actual coherent sentence with them. She’s watching you the way she eyes her experiments - the same way that she always does, the way that both sets you on edge and makes you feel safe.

“I was more looking for your opinion on scars but now I am _very_ interested in you filling in those blanks.” You do not want to fill in those blanks. You should never have even brought up that there were blanks to be filled. You didn’t even want to think about the answer as to what went into those blanks.

“That’s-“

“Don’t break the girl, Holtzy.” Patty probably thinks she’s saving you. She’s not. If anything she’s only allowing the ideas to fester in Holtzmann’s brain, until she finally says or does something that makes you randomly blurt that you have a scar in a particularly intimate place, from an exceptionally drunk foray into the world of pole dancing, after a gruesome first date with a sleaze ball.

“Whaaat? I’m _fine._ ” Let it be noted - you are not fine.

“Erin, sweetie, I love you but ya look like a red M&M right now.” Let it be noted - that is a frightfully correct observation.

“I-I-“

“I’d eat you,” Holtzmann confesses with a smirk and you’re getting lightheaded from all the blushing, and all the thinking about what is causing the blushing, and now the thought of _that_. You’re staring. You don’t know what to say and you’re one more comment away from choking to death on your own saliva and you’re staring. Holtzmann is staring too. No one speaks. Silence passes. One beat. Two beats.

“OK! Imma leave ya’ll to it. Don’t hurt yourselves, or break anything, or do somethin’ nasty on anything I have to touch later on!” You don’t know why they all keep saying things like this. You can’t keep deflecting awkward situations, you’re too awkward yourself to be an awkwardness diffuser and Holtzmann thrives on making you uncomfortable (Exhibit A - _I’d eat you_ ).

“That was, um-“

“Erin-“

“Lunch! We should be eating lunch right now. You fancy pizza? Who doesn’t fancy pizza? I’m going to get pizza. You love pizza. I love pizza. Pizza is always safe.” You’re already backing out of the lab. You knock into at least seven items (a few of which definitely begin to fizzle and spark upon contact) before you manage to reach the door.

Holtzmann watches you the entire time, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips, but you can tell it doesn’t reach her eyes. You can tell that she wants to talk about it. You can tell that she wants to talk about all the stuff that has been happening, i.e. the almost kiss. You’re avoiding it. You don’t know why you’re avoiding it, except that you do, you’re avoiding it because you’re afraid that she doesn’t want this like you do and you’re afraid that she does.

“Pizza is great but-” She tries again.

“Perfect.” You’re out the door before she can question it.

You leave before everyone else that night to avoid being stuck alone with her. The next day when you appear in the lab with a smile you practiced for two hours in front of the mirror, Holtzmann simply winks and goes about her day as normal.

You don’t say anything about the day before.

She doesn’t either.

* * *

 

Then everyone else starts to notice.

It takes a week before you start lose it. Seven days of continuous couple comments until you don’t think you can take it anymore. It starts on the Monday. The two of you go for coffee together because you need a moment away from crotch-centric dancing and knowing glances and Holtzmann needs to stretch her legs (yes, it’s counterproductive).

You don’t even know what sparks the comment. It could be the way you spew off her order beside your own without pause, or the way her hand rests on your back as she leads you through the crowd, or the smile you can’t keep from your face as she pulls her cup away and ends up with a whipped cream moustache.

You don’t hesitate in lifting your hand towards her and wiping the line away with your thumb. You’re slightly more hesitant lifting the finger to your mouth and licking the cream off. You do it anyway. You don’t know where you pull the confidence from, although the answer is probably that it doesn’t even strike you that it’s an odd action until Holtzmann gasps and watches your mouth with a level of reverence you’ve never been witness to before.

Oddly enough, you’ve never been a fan of whipped cream, you always find it to be more sugar than anything else and your mother ingrained it in you from a young age that it was detrimental to attention (and you needed all the focus you could muster to maintain a perfect GPA to distract her from the _my daughter honestly believes in ghosts_ crisis she was having), but mixed with the distinct apple of the chapstick that Holtz religiously applies you think it could be your new favourite thing.

“Sorry.”

“You’re good, actually more than good, that whole thing was ridic hot.” You blush because it’s Holtz, and she’s casually telling you you’re hot, and it’s Holtz, and you seem to always have an issue with blushing because it’s Holtz. “Actually, Erin, there was so-“

“Sorry to interrupt, I just wanted to say that I spend an unhealthy amount of time people watching in coffee shops, but I’ve never come across a couple as cute as the two of you.” You blanch but you can see Holtzmann grinning from across the table like she’s won the lottery. It’s blindingly beautiful but you don’t have time to get pulled into its orbit right now.

“That’s actually... The two of us... We don’t-“ You stumble over an explanation. You don’t know why you’re having so much trouble telling the truth. You and Holtzmann aren’t dating. You’re not. You’re not against the idea, but you’re not, you just hang out a lot alone together and you dream about her sometimes, but you’re not... You don’t...

“I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to creep you out,” the woman apologises, mistaking your unintelligible answer as you being uncomfortable (and you are, but not for that reason).

“Oh you’re fine, this one’s just a little shy. Thank you though; I have to say that I agree,” Holtzmann responds easily, taking your hand into her own and soothingly running her thumb along the back of your hand. You visibly relax, as if you couldn’t give any more fuel to the fire, but it at least has the woman offering a last parting smile and leaving the two of you in peace.

Holtz holds your hand the whole way back to the firehouse.

You never find out what she was going to say.

* * *

 

On Wednesday you do a school visit. There are far too many excitable seven year olds running around, getting paint in their hair in the moments that they’re not simply curiously nibbling on it. You had eyed Abby and Patty knowingly when they both claimed only two should go in case of an emergency, and that it just had to be you and Holtz because that made the most sense.

They never explained why it apparently did. You knew why. Holtzmann never asked. You imagine it’s because she’d been far too excited to get little kids interested in ghost busting (you didn’t dare think it was because she knew too).

It went fine. At first. You explained what you did, well no, you essentially told them nothing of what you did other than that you made weapons and fought ghosts - none of the difficult stuff was spoken about. It realistically went something along the lines of ‘ _science, guns, bye bye ghosties’_ but Holtzmann was doing actions and prancing about and honestly even you were entranced by the story.

Everything was fine and nothing was awkward. That was, until Holtz decided it would be a great idea to start a paint fight. At least, Holtz decided that she wanted a paint fight, you were less excited about the idea, so in reality it was just Holtz throwing paint on your jumpsuit and then doodling something (hopefully PG13) onto your cheek.

You’re pretending to be annoyed, whilst being completely endeared by the way Holtzmann’s tongue sticks out of her mouth slightly when she focuses, when the little girl runs over. Her name is Violet, if you remember correctly from the teacher telling her it was supposed to be quiet time whilst she was bouncing off the walls - you won’t deny that she reminds you a little bit of the blonde at your side, if only because of her excitable nature and the mismatched outfit her parents obviously let her pick for herself.

She’s cute.

They’re both cute.

She’s also staring at you like she’s waiting for permission to speak, or that she’s simply waiting until she has both of your full attention before she wastes her words. She doesn’t turn bashful until you’re both looking her way. She scuffs her toe along the floor and nervously rubs the back of her neck as she thinks over her plan of action. _Definitely Holtz._

“Do you guys hold hands?” It’s so innocent. It’s nothing more than curiosity and yet you still can’t seem to get a handle on words. The answer is evidently yes. You and Holtzmann do hold hands, more so than you hold anyone else’s hand, with more charge than you hold anyone else’s hands too. You’re saved from having to answer at all as Violet powers on as though you’d readily agreed.

“I think I wanna hold Emily’s hand, but all the other girls want to hold Caleb’s hand, but he’s icky and Emily smells like brownies and she washes her hands after she goes toilet.” Personally, you agree that hygiene is a perfectly good reason to want to hold someone’s hand.

“It’s okay if you want to hold Emily’s hand,” Holtzmann say softly. It’s the same tone she used in her speech, albeit far less stilted. You watch her shuffle her chair slightly closer to the curious girl, attempting to give her a reassuring smile as Violet stares at the floor. It strikes you that you love it when Holtzmann bounces around and makes jokes but that she is never more beautiful than when she decides you’re worthy of her opening up to you.

“It is?” Violet asks unsurely only to receive an emphatic nod from Holtz.

“Of course, you can hold any hand you want, as long as the person it belongs to gives you permission,” Holtzmann replies. Violet looks up with more confidence, a small smile playing on her lips as she realises the two of you are smiling at her with encouragement as opposed to judgement.

“Can you kiss someone if they want to hold your hand too?” Violet continues on and you watch her sneak a glance towards a girl happily colouring that you suppose must be the famed Emily. She looks to be happily enjoying her quiet time in the corner as she dutifully assures she doesn’t go outside of the lines. It seems familiar to you in a way that you can’t quite place.

“Do you want to?” You chime in, drawing the smaller girl’s attention to you as she contemplates her answer.

“I dunno, Max said kissing gives you cooties.”

“Well we wouldn’t want that,” you chuckle, smiling harder as Violet shakes her head madly at the idea of getting cooties before you continue on, “but, if you ever wanted to risk it, you could kiss them.”

“She could?” Holtzmann asks curiously. It’s not until you shift your gaze to her that you realise how loaded her question is. You know she’s asking about the two of you. You can feel the sweat build at your brow, and the swirl in your stomach, and the fuzzy static that erupts in your brain. You somehow pluck up the courage to nod before you turn back to Violet and pretend your entire being isn’t whirring from silent questions and unspoken answers.

“Yeah.”

“Cool,” Holtz and Violet mumble in tandem before the smaller girl tugs the two of you into a sharp hug and asks, “Can you paint a heart on me too?” You excuse yourself to the bathroom after that and spend a good five minutes staring at the pink heart expertly crafted on your cheek.

You don’t wash it off until the next morning.

You don’t explain yourself.

She doesn’t ask why.

* * *

 

On Thursday an old lady tells you she’s happy you can finally be in love in peace. Friday has a shop clerk telling you your wife should probably cut down on the sugary cereals (you don’t care for her tone, choosing to tell her to mind her own business as opposed to correcting her fault).

By Saturday you’re still dutifully ignoring that anything is going on between the two of you. You don’t know why. You’ve noticed the way Holtzmann watches you from across the lab, and the way she almost seems excited that people mistake you as a couple, and you know that the way she flirts with you is different to her witty remarks to anyone else.

You know she likes you too.

_You know._

You know and it scares you more than a whole year being haunted by an old woman ever could (so maybe you actually know exactly why you keep ignoring it).

But now you’re in the lab alone, and there’s no one to mistake the two of you as a couple or extend their congratulations on your finally blooming love life, and you know Holtzmann has noticed the way you watch her from across the lab, and the way you stutter explanations when the word _‘couple’_ is uttered, and the way your awkwardness with her isn’t the same as with everyone else.

She knows you like her too.

_She knows._

So why isn’t she doing anything about it either? Why hasn’t she just broke and said something? Why doesn’t she realise that you’re awkward and afraid and that she maybe needs to get the ball rolling a little?

“You’re staring, Gilbert,” she mentions without looking up from her work and you are. You totally are. But, in your defence, she was being quieter than usual and it was odd. Her usual bellowing to the music had become a casual hum, and the outrageous dancing had been toned down to a subtle hip swing and finger tap.

She was being uncharacteristically tame and it allowed you a moment’s peace to get lost in the tranquillity of Jillian Holtzmann. It also gave you time to realise that even crazy dance party Holtzmann gave you the same at ease feeling in your chest that you were currently experiencing.

“What? Pssh, no I’m not.” You don’t say it convincingly. You really wish she hadn’t hindered your ability to lie convincingly since, for a large portion of your life, it was the only thing that kept you going. It feels a little odd being so open, so vulnerable, so... unintentionally honest.

“The holes you’ve burnt into the side of my face would beg to differ.”

“Pretty sure those are the result of your complete disregard for safety measures.” She chuckles at that, finally looking up from her station to catch your eye and send you a wink that makes you feel like you’re in on an inside joke. It’s a simple gesture that makes your heart leap.

“Safety measures are for dudes and I didn’t say that I minded,” she shrugs nonchalantly before turning back to her task at hand with one last smile. It’s entirely too casual and entirely too charming and you suddenly can’t seem to even recall what she’s referring to.

“What?”

“I don’t mind the staring.” Oh. _Oh._

“Oh, cool.” _This is it, Erin. This is when you stop being the same scared little girl who hid under her covers for a year and let everyone talk her into thinking she was crazy instead of standing up for what she knew was right._ “Anything else you don’t mind?” Smooth. Real smooth. Although, on the brightside, Holtzmann is even less smooth as she abruptly drops her blow torch and fumbles to stand from her chair - verging on falling over several times before she catches her footing and makes her way closer.

She moves three steps.

Your feet feel like they’re nailed to the floor.

“In terms of?” She enquires and where were you going with this again? Maybe you shouldn’t be going anywhere with this. Maybe you should be going back to your whiteboard and your equations which were safe and had definite answers.

“Err, you know what, never mind, it was stupid. I’m just being stupid.”

She moves three steps.

You can’t seem to remember how walking works.

“Erin-“ You don’t know what eventually propels you forward. You don’t know if it’s the half step she takes like she might finally close the space herself. You don’t know if it’s the way your name cracks as it forms on her tongue. You don’t know if it’s the desperate look in her eyes that begs you to just do something already. Whatever it is, you don’t give Holtzmann the time to finish her sentence before your lips are on hers.

She freezes the moment your lips touch hers, and then she crumbles into you like the touch of your lips somehow melted away any questions she had about this. About you. She kisses you back in a way you don’t think you’ve ever been kissed in your life. You’ve been kissed by overzealous men and timid boys and girls and boys who kissed well but didn’t make you really _feel_ something.

Holtzmann makes you feel.

You’ve never felt the same heat as when her hands graze under your shirt, tugging you further into her arms but never daring to explore any further than the depths of your lower back. You’ve never felt more sure and safe than in her embrace. You’ve never felt more desired than when you eventually build up the courage to slide your tongue into her mouth and are rewarded with a growl that trembles deep from Holtzmann’s throat as she kisses you with renewed fervour.

Then she slows it down. She kisses like the first snow of winter. Gentle and wistful and full of a kind of promise you’re not used to. It reminds you of hot chocolate and warm blankets and a time where playing with the kids down your block used to be fun. She kisses like the first spot of sun after a rainstorm. Hopeful and freeing and with so much warmth that you think you might burn up.

Then she stops altogether. She pulls her lips just far enough away that you can catch your breath, just far enough away that you can still smell the sugar and mint on her tongue, just far enough away that it’s no effort at all to dip your head slightly to rest your forehead against her own.

“Oh, thank Tesla,” Holtzmann whispers happily.

“What?” You’re still dazed. You don’t open your eyes just yet, taking a moment to revel in this moment. A moment that you caused. A moment that you initiated in the most productive spurt of spontaneity you’ve ever had (most of them resulted in you punching someone or saying something you inevitably regretted in the next second).

“I’ve been waiting for you to do that for months. Sure as hell took your sweet time, hot stuff.”

“What? Why did it have to be me?”

“Erin, I’m pretty much in love with you, but you’re like a scared puppy and we both know if I’d have kissed you when I first wanted to kiss you, you would have run for the hills.” You’re not like a scared puppy. You had stuck plenty of awkward situations out, sure you probably handled them terribly, and sure you avoided having to handle them for as long as possible, but you stuck them out. Kind of. Sometimes. Once or twice. Maybe once ish.

“That’s not-“

“I wanted to kiss you the moment you walked into Abby’s lab,” Holtzmann interrupts with startling honesty and _oh._ She looks so earnest. There’s a look in her eye that tells you she’s being completely and totally honest when she admits that’s she’s wanted this since the moment the two of you met. You can’t imagine why. You were uptight, and a little rude, and more than a little agitated at the thought of wasting all those years on trying to attain tenure, and yet she still...

“That may have spooked me a little,” you concede with a smile that grows slightly with Holtz’s responding chuckle. “So, you’ve just been waiting and watching me struggle to explain myself to people?” You feel more than see the slight nod of her head in affirmation.

“You’re a smart cookie, figured you’d clue in eventually. Didn’t think you’d lip ambush me but I’m certainly not complaining because _woohoo_ Erin.” You blush and then promptly wonder if you’ll ever get used to the things she says or if they’ll always set you on edge (probably the latter).

“Well I have kissed people before,” you joke.

“Girls?” She enquires without missing a beat and you don’t hesitate to roll your eyes.

“Sometimes,” you indulge.

“Patty owes me twenty bucks.”

“So you’re not upset about the ‘kiss ambush’?” You throw her words back at her because you need reassurance, because even though she kissed you like it was her life’s work, you wanted to know that she was comfortable, that you didn’t cross a line that you shouldn’t have.

“Erin, my sweet, my bud, I am the very opposite of upset about that kiss.” You sport matching grins. It makes it difficult when you press another chaste kiss to her lips and you feel her teeth bump yours slightly but you do it nonetheless.

“Good. Me too. And, um, I’m pretty much in love with you too.”

“Caught that, huh?” Of course you caught it, you simply needed a second to comprehend the idea before you could vocalise anything because she’s in love with you. Jillian Holtzmann is in love with _you_ , Erin Gilbert, and it’s ridiculous and you have no idea why she possibly could be, but she is, and it’s amazing.

“Big time,” is all you respond before you kiss her again.

You kiss her as the doors to the firehouse open. You kiss her as Abby and Patty appear in the lab and shout an exasperated _finally_ to each other before smiling happily. You kiss her as Kevin appears confusedly asking what all the fuss is about. You kiss her as he thankfully announces that he’s happy he can finally stop keeping it a secret because it was much harder than he thought. You kiss her as they eventually take the hint and leave the two of you alone.

You kiss her.

And you kiss her again.

And you don’t ever want to stop.


End file.
